


Sweet Home Chicago

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Compliant, F/M, Smut, pre-s2, what happened in Chicago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:12:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Jim escorts Will and Joyce to a specialist in Chicago. Takes place before Season Two.





	1. Chapter 1

**January, 1984**

 

**Hawkins, Indiana**

 

“Is that everything?” Jim Hopper asked as he tossed a duffel bag into the back of his truck. Joyce nodded nervously, her hands clutching her upper-arms as she sought to warm herself in the chilly, January air.

 

“Yeah, thanks again, Hop.”

 

Jim unzipped and shrugged off his fleece-lined, Hawkins Police Department coat and threw it over Joyce’s shoulders. “Bad weather coming, and those big city hotshots would have a cow if you cancelled on them. You can’t push that little car from here to Chicago, not when you might get stuck in a blizzard; the Blazer is a nice, dependable vehicle and I’m a good driver--”

 

“But I’m taking you from work…” Joyce fretted, gnawing at her thumb nail as she looked up at her friend with wide, anxious eyes.

 

“Vacation pay, Joyce. I can’t think of a better city to use it in, either,” he replied, soothing her anxious soul with a charming little grin as he placed one hand between her shoulder blades to guide her to the passenger-side of his truck. Will was already waiting in the backseat, delving into a comic-book with a wool blanket covering his lap for warmth.

 

“Boca Raton,” Joyce suggested as she gave him a sarcastic little curtesy and stepped into the truck. Jim chuckled, shut the door and rounded to the front.

 

“Doesn’t your stepmom live there? She hated me,” he informed her, settling into his seat and cranking the heat dial.

 

“It’s a big place.”

 

“Not big enough to get away from Big, Bad Rachel Horowitz,” Jim teased.

 

“Okay, bad example… Hawaii?”

 

Jim smirked as he backed out of the driveway. “That’s easy, you wouldn’t be there. Not a worthwhile vacation if Joyce Mae isn’t cracking wise at your side.”

 

Joyce felt a heat creep to her cheeks at Jim’s predictably charming reply. Calling what they were doing a vacation, and acting like it was actually something he wanted to do with his time, that she was someone he wanted to see and be around… ridiculous.

 

“I wouldn’t call taking my son to a specialist a vacation, but you’re welcome to do whatever you like when we’re there. You’re already my wheelman, I can’t ask you to be anything more.” Joyce craned her head towards the backseat. “Are you comfortable, baby?”

 

Will nodded, not looking up from his comic book. “I’m okay.”

 

“If you need me to pull over at any time, let me know kid,” Jim offered, glancing into the rearview mirror.

 

“Thanks, Chief.”

 

“We’re going to figure this out. I promise.” The reassurance felt like ashes in her mouth, but she had to say something.

 

___________

 

Joyce and Will unpacked their bags in the clean, double room they shared. She cringed at the sound of car horns and general city bustle coming from outside the window; it was deafening, even from eight stories above the fray.

 

“I don’t know how anyone sleeps downtown,” she remarked, walking over to pull the heavy curtains, hoping it would do something for the sound.

 

“Maybe I’ll have better luck,” Will murmured. The tests meant two nights of observation at Northwestern, which was a hop and a skip from the hotel. Joyce felt the little bit of hush money given to her by the lab for non-disclosure begin to trickle away steadily, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, save for her little boy feeling well again.

 

“Maybe you will. Big, fancy hospitals can afford to be well-insulated.” she crossed the room to where Will was standing and pulled him into a tight hug. He buried his face in the crook of her neck and sighed as she held him. He was still so small, not like Jonathan who was practically a man and didn’t really need silly reassurances and hugs… she wished he had been able to come along, but he was adamant that at least one of them should still be working, and he was right. The extra money wasn’t going to last forever, especially when Will was getting seen by specialists at one of the best hospitals in the country. At least she had gotten her way in regards to him staying at the Wheelers, rather than alone at home.

 

There was a knock at the door before Jim gently announced his presence on the other side. Joyce hurried to open the door, stepping aside so he could come in. He lingered a bit at the door -nearly filling up the frame with his large, imposing presence- before clearing his throat.

 

“I know it’s not the fanciest hotel but--”

 

“Because we’re used to the Ritz,” Joyce joked, reaching out to pull at his right hand and guide him into the room. “It’s perfect. It’s noisy, but it’s clean. Besides, I’m only coming here to sleep; how’s your room?”

 

Jim shrugged at sat on the edge of Will’s bed, playfully ruffling the boy’s hair when he sat beside him. “Standard, but with a beautiful view of the alleyway--nice aerial vantage point for witnessing public urination.”

 

Will wrinkled his nose. “Ew!” he groaned through the laugh he shared with his mother and Jim.

 

________

 

They knew she was hiding something, Joyce could just tell. She, Jim, and Will had been meticulously coached over how to answer questions from the specialists by Dr. Owens, the man who had taken Brenner’s place. Owens had begged that Joyce consider allowing the lab to take over with Will’s case (“It will be free, you won’t have to lie to anyone because we know what happened, Mrs. Byers.”) but Joyce had been firm on the matter. They could make her sign a mountain of ND’s, tell her the right things to say, but they could not poke and prod at her boy, not after everything that had happened with that poor little girl. (“It’s not going to be like that, Mrs. Byers. I know asking for trust is a bit much at this point, but I hope in time…”)

 

There wasn’t enough time in the world--except, now she was sure she didn’t have enough information for these Chicago doctors to go on. (“He was gone, we thought he was dead, but he wasn’t”; “He just spaces out sometimes, I don’t know--and that cough…”) Jesus, she wished they would stop looking at her like that.

 

Jim stayed in the waiting room, despite her insistence that he go off and find something amusing to do. It had annoyed her at first; his steadfast presence, always asking if she needed anything, or if she was alright when she happened to wander into the room between interviews and tests--but when she stumbled in at 10 PM, exhausted and banished for the evening, the only thing she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms, bury her face against his chest, and sob out her frustrations.

 

“Hey now, it’s only day one… let’s see what they come up with in the morning before falling to pieces, okay?” he kissed the top of her head and gently swayed with her as they stood in the middle of the empty waiting room.

 

________

 

They ended up at the Marriott bar that night, sharing too-strong, over-priced drinks and gradually unwinding from the stress of the day. Jim couldn’t help but grin at the pleasure Joyce took in winning Shake of the Day in bar dice, and laughed out loud when she tried to give the prize money back to the bartender, her pride bristling and magnified from the three double gin and tonics in her system.

 

“My ex was a gambler, and it ruined him,” Joyce protested as Jim took the money from her hands and stuffed it in her purse.

 

“Gambling didn’t ruin Lonnie, sweets, he was always a jackass, even in grade school. Take your damn twenty bucks.”  He thought she might have shivered at his words, his lips were a breath away from her ear when he spoke them, low and insistent. Then again, maybe it was a trick of the light.

 

Even in his own drunken state, Jim could tell that perhaps three G&Ts were the tiny woman’s limit. She wasn’t overly intoxicated, not on the outset, at least. Sure, she was a little more charming and effusive, and sure she sat a little closer to him in the corner booth (practically in his lap) then maybe she would if she had just been sipping club sodas, and sure she walked into a wall enroute to the ladies room…

 

Okay, she was pretty drunk.

 

“Let’s get you back to the room,” Jim slurred softly, sliding from the booth and offering his hand. She sighed and took it.

 

“Yeah, prob-probably about that time. I have to get back to the hospital early in the morning,” she agreed, hugging close to his side as they walked out of the bar, towards the elevators.

 

“After a good breakfast, of course. Not at the hospital, though; hospital food is for the birds. I’m going to get you some corn-beef hash and s-some french toast maybe.”

 

“Cheesy. greasy hash browns,” Joyce moaned as they stepped into the elevator.

 

“Like Benny used to make.”

 

A pall fell over the elevator at the mention of Jim’s childhood friend. The familiar lead feeling sunk into his gut, and twisted at his throat as Joyce looked up with soft, sympathetic eyes.

 

“Yeah. Like Benny used to make,” she murmured. “Jesus, Hop, I’m so sorry. You haven’t even really had time to mourn with everything that’s--”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut her off as the elevator gave a soft ‘ding’ indicating they had reached their floor. Jim’s room was on the same floor, but on opposite ends of the building. Still, he gallantly walked her to 808, and didn’t say no when she invited him inside to sit with her.

 

Joyce poured two glasses of water and handed one to Jim, along with two aspirin as they sat together on the edge of her bed. The room was semi-dark, save for the dim lighting provided by the lamp on the nightstand between the two full beds, and Jim thought the yellow glow gave Joyce’s impossibly youthful features an even more innocent glow.

 

“You look fantastic. How is that possible with everything you’ve gone through?” he mumbled, throwing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her to his side. His insides warmed at the feeling of her head nestling in the crook of his shoulder; a subtle spark went off in his chest when she took one of his hands and held it in her lap, her fingers idly stroking at his knuckles.

 

“Ponds cold cream. Just like my mother taught me.”

 

“Maybe I should try it. I look twenty years older than you, not three months younger.”

 

“You could cool it with the boozing and the pills too, Hop,” Joyce lectured in a tone that made him go rigid. He jerked his hand away from her touch and shrugged her away.

 

“Maybe mind your own fucking business,” he snapped, pulling himself to his feet. He immediately regretted his words when he looked down and saw the way her expression crumbled. The way her shoulders slumped, her head hung low… the way she tried to make herself look as small as possible.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered in a tiny voice, as she pulled her knees to her chest. “You’ve just done so much for my family, and I want you to be around for- I’m sorry,” she repeated, before gasping out a little sob.

 

“Fuck. Joycie, hey, I’m sorry…” he went to his knees in front of her, his hands cupping her face to pull her tearful gaze to him. “Thank you for worrying about me, but don’t. I’m not worth it, Joyce, I’m not any--” he was cut off when she leaned forward and slanted her lips against his. He tried to steel himself against the onslaught- he was drunk, she was drunk, they were both upset, nothing good could come of it- but her lips were so soft, and the helpless whimper she made as she urged him to respond was like music to his ears.

 

He was only human.


	2. Chapter 2

The doctors still had no news. Will’s test results were showing no irregularities to speak of, and there had been no instances of him ‘checking out’ during the observations. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder was what they were still calling it. **  
**

“What about the cough?” Joyce asked, her voice going up in pitch with each inquiry.

“He was outside for over a week, it could be a lingering illness, but there’s no signs on infection. Could just be a dry cough from the exposure.”

“But it’s January! He was found nearly two months ago!” Joyce cried.

Nothing but shrugs and reassurances that they would observe him another night. Joyce scoffed and stormed from the doctor’s office, marching towards the room where they were keeping Will. He was on his bed in a seated position, and Jim had a chair pulled up to the bed. The two were deeply involved in a card game… War, from the looks of it.

“How are you feeling today, honey?” Joyce asked, willing away the frantic quality in her tone.

“I’m okay. It’s nice to have a break from poking and prodding, but I wish they’d let me out so I could go out to lunch with you both. The food here su-… it’s not great.” Will gave Jim a sheepish look, clearly unwilling to complain in front of the man who was kind enough to bring them to this place.

“You’re good, kid. You can tell the truth… it’s dismal. It sucks.” Jim ruffled her son’s hair and chuckled

“Yeah, it sucks.”

Joyce smiled at the almost domestic scene before her. She was almost surprised over how good Jim was with her son, until she realized that he had been a father at some point, and a damn good one. His entire world had crumbled when he lost that little girl. Joyce felt her insides twist at the thought, and her happy smile turned bittersweet.

“It’s only for one more night, baby. Hopper and I will take you to the greasiest, tastiest diner on the way home, and you can have anything you like from it, I promise. Is that okay, Hop?”

Jim shot a grin at Joyce and then Will. “Abso-freaking-lutely, kid. One of those places where if you eat the most trash, they’ll put your picture on the wall. How does that sound?”

Will’s eyes lit up as he giggled at the thought. “Awesome!”

The three of them exchanged happy, knowing looks, and Joyce took a seat on the other side of the bed to observe the game between Jim and Will. Jim kept glancing at Joyce in a way that made her scalp tingle and her cheeks burn.

The kiss from the night before had not culminated into anything more than several passionate minutes of lying on the bed, fully clothed, pawing at each other like teens. Decency prevailed, when Jim’s sex-fogged mind registered the fact that Joyce was far too drunk (hell, he was three sheets himself!) for them to do anything that would allow him to look at himself in the mirror the next day, so he was the one who put the brakes on the whole adventure. He helped her undress, tucked her into her bed, and he settled into the other bed, watching her as she drifted off into a disappointed slumber.

Early the next morning, Joyce crawled into bed next to him, wanting nothing more than to be held, and he obliged, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair as she nestled against the crook of his shoulder, sleepily murmuring something about not regretting what had occured the night before.

“I don’t regret it either, but let’s just get through today,” he muttered, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

They had held hands throughout breakfast, exchanging knowing looks and a few furtive kisses when the server wasn’t around to notice. It was like they were kids again, trying to be secretive lest they get busted by a nosey teacher. It was exhilarating really, unlike anything Jim had felt in years. Promise hung in the air throughout the day, and though he wanted nothing more than to be supportive at the hospital, and to make sure Will was safe and comfortable, the fact that they had another whole night together, alone, made him count down the minutes until they left the hospital and returned to the hotel room.

Not that he wasn’t having fun with the kid. With Will. The boy was intelligent; bright and funny despite his trauma and the ailments that plagued his body and mind. He had a quick laugh that wrinkled his nose, like his mother, much to Jim’s delight. Unlike Jonathan, there was nothing of Lonnie in Will, none of the malcontent brooding and stormy looks that had been Lonnie’s trademark as a punk kid. Will was all sunshine, sweetness, and keen intelligence. He even took the time to patiently explain some of the big words he used to Jim; another thing he had inherited from his mother, though Joyce had always explained things with playful mocking creeping in the edge of her tone.

“Awww, better luck next time,” Will consoled when Jim lost yet another game.

“You teach your kid to cheat at cards?” Jim asked Joyce, the crooked grin on his face erasing any seriousness his tone may have held.

“Only against cops,” Joyce replied with a wink. Someone cleared their throat near the entryway, all three heads turned towards the noise. Will made a soft, disappointed sounds when he recognized the doctor, flanked by two nurses.

“Okay, Mom and Dad, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the room. We’ll be taking Will to his next round of tests.”

Joyce kissed Will on the forehead, and Jim gave him a gentle chuck under the chin. Neither of them corrected the doctor on his faux-pas, not even Will. They gave him one last wave, bundled up, and headed out of the hospital for a few hours, for what Joyce thought would be a nice lunch downtown.

“So where would we find this deep-dish pizza I keep hearing so much a–” Joyce was cut off when Jim, in full view of bustling passersby, pushed her against the side of the building and kiss her hard, his hands cupping the sides of her face. It was over in a flash, but her heart was racing when he pulled and flashed her his most charming grin.

“Sorry, it’s been a few hours,” he apologized before taking her hand and leading her in the direction of the hotel. “I was thinking we’d order in, if that’s okay.”

Joyce giggled nervously as her cheeks and ears burned at the possibility that hung thick in his voice, despite the deep chill in the afternoon air. “Sounds perfect. I bet these little diners are going to be freezing on a day like today.”

They decided to to have lunch in Jim’s room. Unlike Joyce’s room, his had a single king-sized bed, a bigger bathroom with a whirlpool tub, and a little kitchenette. Joyce whistled low as she looked around. “I don’t even know why you bothered hanging around in my room.”

Jim stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her tight against his front as he peppered kisses along the top of her head, down to the side of her neck. She closed her eyes with a dreamy smile and exhaled lightly.

“Your room has its charms; namely you.”

Joyce snorted, and then sighed when his right hand moved up to cup one of her breasts, his clever thumb and forefinger rolled her nipple between them, finding their mark, despite the barrier of wool and cotton. “Very smooth. No wonder you go through Hawkins women like tissue paper.”

His arms stiffened and then dropped, she turned in time to see him step away, a strange expression furrowing his heavy brow. The playful smile died on her lips when she realized her words had actually hurt him. “Hey, I–”

“This isn’t like that, you know,” he muttered, his eyes darting to the floor as he shifted his weight from side to side, his hands rubbing a rough path down the sides of his jeans, as he exhaled.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that it would mean… it means something to me, if that helps. I just didn’t want to make you feel like you were ob-obligated t-to… just because I see it as something more than a fling. I was just trying to let you know it was okay if you wanted it to be like with… with Marissa.” God, she was nervous.

Joyce was in his arms again, this time the kisses he bestowed on her were laced with desperation, almost to the point of sloppiness, as his hands cupped her ass to hoist her up to his height. She nearly slipped, her legs were shaking so severely as she attempted to hook them around his waist as she clung to him for dear life, parting her lips to accept his greedy tongue and nipping teeth.

“It’s something to me,” Jim murmured against her ear before they fell onto the bed together, limbs tangling, and hands grasping at clothing in a clumsy bid to remove them.

“Okay,” she sighed as her hands fumbled with his belt buckle while his gave up and sent buttons flying from her blouse as he ripped it open. “Hop! Clothes are expensive…”

“I’ll buy you a dozen boring button-ups, I swear,” he replied, trailing his lips and teeth down the side of her neck as he lifted his hips to allow her better access to the fly of his jeans. He gave a sharp moan as she freed his erection, taking it in one hand while the other shoved his boxers and jeans down past his waist.

“Don’t be silly,” Joyce scolded as she stroked.

“Anything you say, just don’t–ah!–don’t stop doing that.”

The rest of their clothing fell to the wayside, and Joyce found herself propped against every pillow on the bed, her legs open wide, as Jim kissed, licked and nipped his way up her left thigh. The unspoken promise of someone going down on her in the first time in decades was a dizzying prospect, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep an impatient whine from escaping her lips as he teased and tantalized.

“Hop… Jim…”

“Don’t call me Jim, you’re gonna make me think I’m in trouble,” he joked before parting his nether lips with his fingers and taking a teasing little swipe at her clit with the tip of his tongue. He chuckled when her hips bucked at the contact. “Easy…” he murmured before pressing his face against her center to devour and inflame her.

Within minutes, Joyce was fisting the sheets, her toes curling and the muscles going tense in her calves and thighs as she rocked against his face and cried out his name. He prolonged the torture for several minutes more before kissing his way up her abdomen; sliding up her body so she could taste herself on his lips, as he teased his cock against her drenched, swollen folds.

Joyce let out an impatient cry, hooked one leg around his waist, and lifted her hips so that he slide inside of her. She gasped at the intrusion, the memory of his impressive size so distant, despite the visual confirmation minutes before when she had teased and stroked at it. It had been so long since she had been with a man, and had she not been aching and desperate for him, the experience might have been full-on painful, rather than a dim echo of discomfort amidst the sweet relief of their joining.

“Are you okay?” he asked, trembling from the effort it took to not immediately start thrusting into her. She felt exquisite, tight and warm and just so right. He wanted nothing more than to just stay in the moment, never leave the safe haven that was Joyce Byers. At the same time, he wanted to plunder and claim her, to leave his mark and unleash the frustration that had been plaguing him since the first time he walked into Melvald’s after returning to town, and seeing her a little older, a little tired, but still all chaotic hair, dark, expressive eyes and still so very Joyce. He peppered her forehead and cheeks with little, soothing kisses as one hand came up to stroke the side of her face. Thankfully, she nodded, a tremulous smile gracing her beautiful lips.

“Never better,” she replied before giving him a fierce, deep kiss, her hips moving against his. The time for words ended, and they proceeded in the age-old rhythm, a dance that they had both been old partners in, though the years had modified and perfected the movements. No more quick, sloppy fumblings in the back of cars, or whatever semi-secret place they used to find to make due in order to satisfy their youthfully intense urges; they moved together like they had all the time in the world.

Joyce’s orgasm came on gentle and warm, her legs wrapped about Jim’s waist as he thrust into her at a leisurely pace, her teeth digging into his shoulder to muffle her cry. He, however, was not nearly finished taking his fill of her. With a quick maneuver, she was astride him, his fingers digging into her sides as he thrust upwards, murmuring breathless encouragement as she rocked and rotated her hips.

“Fuck… I’m not going to last,” he grounded out as she increased her pace, reflexively tightening her walls against his cock.

“Just… w-wait… because I’m–” the strength of her climax made her lose the words she was trying to say, though Jim was sure he knew what they were going to be. She shuddered and whimpered atop him, slowing in her movements, though the tightening of her walls were still exquisite torture enough for him to…

“Get up, get up,” he urged, pushing at her hips. She rolled away from him in time for him to finish, coming in strong spurts onto his own stomach as he grunted and stroked himself to total completion. His hand collapsed at his side and for a few moments, all that could be heard in the little room was the sound of ragged breathing, punctuated at the end by Joyce’s nervous laughter, and Jim’s deep-chested chuckle.

“This certainly changes things,” Joyce announced, after Jim had cleaned up and crawled back into bed to cuddle with her. “Doesn’t it?”

Jim nodded against the crook of her neck. “I’d say so.” he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. “This has been quite the long lunch.”

“Shit.”

___________

Jim Hopper trudged through the snowy woods two days later, his mind stuck on the date he and Joyce had planned for later that day. Nothing special, just fish fry at the local VFW, but it was the first time they’d be out in public, and solidly together. It wasn’t even a particularly good fish fry, but the prospect put a permanent smile on his face as he made his way to the lockbox.

Then he saw her. Bedraggled, freezing and most likely starving. The reason he kept returning to the spot in the woods, even though he was starting to think the journey was more an empty ritual of a guilty conscience than an actual attempt at making contact.

But there she was. Jesus, what was he going to do? What was he going to tell Joyce?

Several images bombarded his imagination at once. There was the girl, back behind a locked door, thin, wretched, her arms peppered with angry red dots from needles, her eyes large and blood-shot. If they found her, that would be her fate.

Then there was Joyce. Slumped over her kitchen table with a smoldering hole in her head, the walls behind her painted with blood and brains. Or she’d be hanging by her broken neck in the toolshed. They’d make it look like a suicide, and no one would question it because she was Crazy Joyce. That would be her fate if she knew and they found out that she knew. That image overwhelmed him, blacking out the pleasant image of her head thrown back in ecstacy and her hair spread out over the pillow as he worshipped her. That was over.

That was done.

He never showed up for the date. Never called. She never confronted him over it either, which stung. The first time he went into Melvald’s after weeks of zero contact, her eyes were large, sad and fixed on his before she just sighed and the expression shifted. It was a face he had seen on Marissa and other one-night stands that he had the misfortune of running into afterwards. Typical Jim. Disappointed but not surprised. The look crushed him…

But she was safe, and alive. The kid was safe, and alive.

The first time he noticed Bob Newby having lunch with Joyce on the park bench outside of the Radio Shack, he wanted to tear the man apart with his bare hands, pummel his round, affable face into mush. But he couldn’t. Because then there would be questions.

He was miserable, and sick with jealousy.

But she was happy. She was safe, and alive.


	3. Bonus Chapter: I Have Saved All My Ribbons For Thee

It wasn’t bad sex. If Jim thought really hard about it, he would probably place it in his top ten. There was real passion; she was inventive and responsive and she was Joyce Byers, the focal point of his most beautiful and persistent dreams, but…

“Hey, sweetheart, my eyes are over here,” Jim whispered, glancing over his shoulder at her; she was breathless and still trembling slightly, flush from her breasts to her hairline, and seemingly deaf to his statement. The entire time, the whole time they had come together, she hadn’t met his eyes; choosing to either close hers, or fix them on some mystery point just beyond his shoulder. It was infuriating and baffling and all he wanted was her soft brown eyes to meet his so he could begin to discern what she was thinking.

“Joyce? Are you okay?” he reached over to touch her shoulder, and the flinch in her body as she shrunk away was as good as a slap to the face. “Hey.”

Joyce pulled herself to a sitting position and drew her knees to her chest. “You don’t have to do all that, you know.” she finally glanced over at him, her gaze fixed on his face and what he saw in her eyes chilled the blood in his veins. It was indifference.

He shot up, his heart twisting in his chest and his stomach doing an unpleasant flip as he looked closer and struggled to understand. He didn’t see guilt over moving on so quickly after Bob (in her living room, the television still played the Dick Clark’s New Year’s Eve broadcast, the cheers and boisterous celebration mocking the scene unfolding in her bedroom), nor elation over their consummation, though her skin held a tell-tale, post-coital glow. No love, no regret… just nothing.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, aware of the tinge of hysteria in his voice. “Joyce, this wasn’t just some–”

“Well, you’ve said that before, haven’t you?” she snapped, the corners of her mouth turning downwards. Finally, he caught a flash of emotion in the way her eyes shined curiously before she cast them away from him once more, in the way her teeth worried at her bottom lip and her chin quivered.

Chicago. Of fucking course she was talking about Chicago. It was the sword hanging over his head, the last thing they were ignoring, and the biggest obstacle standing in the way of their happiness, now he had come clean about the kid. They had been together in that city, really and truly together and prepared to make plans for the future once they returned home.

And then he never called her, and never explained himself. For someone who had already been going through hell as Joyce was, to have the possibility of stability, adoration, and love dangled in front of her, only to have it snatched away without so much as a phone call.

“Yes, I said that before.”

Joyce stood and began to get dressed. “The kids will be back from the party at the cabin soon. Maybe you should think about heading back yourself, or at the very least making yourself decent.”

Another gut punch. Jim had given similar instructions to one night stands over the years, done so without thinking much of it, and he was sure the ladies hadn’t minded much either since they knew the score… but to hear it from her lips tore at him, left him feeling like an exposed nerve in an ice storm.

But it didn’t have to be that way. There was no reason to not come clean, especially if she wasn’t putting two-and-two together on her own… his hard-headed woman. Jim reached out and gently closed his hand around her wrist, tugging her towards the bed. She rolled her eyes, but climbed back in, pushing at his chest when he tried to pull her close. He respected her need for distance and scooted back on the mattress. They both laid on their sides, staring at each other for an awkward moment that nearly stretched into a minute, before Jim finally spoke:

“And I meant it when I said it in Chicago.”

“Bullshit,” she shot back.

Jim exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment before continuing: “You think just because I didn’t call, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Joyce snorted. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Except that I found the kid in the woods two days after we got back from Chicago.”

He opened his eyes in time to see the realization begin to dawn on her face. She blinked rapidly several times, and her expression softened for a split second before shifting back to neutral.

“You could’ve told me about that, you know. You didn’t have to keep her on your own, I could’ve–”

“Died. You could’ve died; or at least, that was what I told myself when I was agonizing over telling you.”

Joyce frowned. “Died? Jim, she’s never been dangerous to me.”

“No, you don’t get it. Benny knew too much, and they killed him. They called it a suicide, but that was their handiwork, and they toyed with doing the same to me after I tried breaking into that place the first time. If I told you, and the cabin was compromised… “ he reached over and cupped her face, trying to convey what he meant without having to voice it again. It was too terrible.

Miraculously, she scooted closer. Not quite in his arms, but her hand covered the one that was touching her face, her fingertips stroking his knuckles in a soft, loving gesture.

“I just wish–”

“So do I. Jesus Christ, Joyce; I hurt you, and then I had to watch you move on with Bob. If it weren’t for the kid, I think I would’ve… I would’ve done some typical Hopper bullshit. Pills, booze, women– you know I’m off the Tuinal? Couldn’t be fucked up around her…” she didn’t fight it when he pulled her close enough that he could rest his chin on the top of her head, so she wouldn’t see the tears that were freely falling.

“I can survive you telling me to leave, that this was a one time deal. I survived letting you go to be happy with Newby, because I knew you were safe. I couldn’t-can’t survive being in a world you’re not in. That’s why I never showed up for that date, and never called–but if that’s not enough of an explanation, and you’re still sore, It’s fine. I’ll be fi–”

She cut him off with a kiss, and for a second, he thought he was imagining the sound of fireworks, until he remembered the damn television was still on in the living room.


End file.
